


the fruit of peace and righteousness

by robokittens



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Consensual Infidelity, Edit: Actually Fuck That Guy, Kink Exploration, Kneeling, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Playoff BJs, Praise Kink, Service Top, Someone Please Tell Matt Duchene He's A Good Boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 07:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18734233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: Someday, Josh thinks, if this is — if this goes on, if this continues, maybe he'll be able to set the parameters. Decide what Matt wantsforhim, take it all out of his hands like he really wants. Maybe Matt won't have to say anything at all; maybe neither of them will. Instinct and body language and Matt knowing his place, and —Josh inhales, slow and deep.





	the fruit of peace and righteousness

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you're like, maybe i'll just hop on this bandwagon for the playoffs, what a good fun time haha nbd, and then suddenly you're sitting on a bus for eight hours to go watch the blue jackets sweep the bolts and then suddenly you're in love and you're throwing aside all your current wips to fling something desperately at the altar of the hockey gods because please, _please_.
> 
> sorry to roll up once again like "ok so in my head this is part of this really big D/s fic but" so let's just, uh, let's call this one a timestamp? and we'll come back to it later? cool, cool.
> 
> anyway!!! thanks to the unfortunately horny for matt duchene crew for enabling this (and for putting up with me constantly calling us that), and thanks to sterne for the quick turnaround on beta, and tbh thanks to hawks twitter for dealing with my crazy ass. you're all great 💖

It's bad — a bad night for everyone, the locker room unsettled and out of sorts, weirdly quiet as the media files out and everyone finishes getting their shit together. Josh didn't have to do media at least, but it's a small blessing. It's the kind of night where you just want to fall into your own bed, sleep like the dead. And they _can't_ , of course, won't fly back till tomorrow, so that's — worse.

The bus ride to the hotel is just as subdued, a few guys cracking jokes but no one's really feeling it. Matt gets off the bus before Josh does but loiters a little, catches his elbow as they're walking into the lobby.

"Hey," he says, voice quiet. "Can you —"

He doesn't finish the sentence, but with the way he won't meet Josh's eyes, he doesn't have to.

He only hesitates for a second. "Give me fifteen?" he asks, and Matt nods, drops his hand; they continue toward the elevator in silence.

He drops his bag by the door, strips off his suit as efficiently as he can. The hotel room is nice enough, but he'd still rather be home. 

Josh knows he took a shower at TD but it was so perfunctory he doesn't remember it, and besides, this is the kind of loss he might need to wash off more than once. He doesn't let himself think about the game, in the shower — doesn't think about anything, keeps his mind carefully blank as he scrubs himself down. Doesn't think about what Matt's doing right now.

It's weird, there's no way around it. Maybe not — the whole thing, but that Josh is — It's just a lot, a big secret to keep for a guy he doesn't know all that well in the scheme of things, hasn't known for that long and might not — He doesn't let himself think about that, either.

He's not sure where to sit, when he gets out of the shower, boxers and a t-shirt that's all stretched out in the shoulders and a towel draped around his neck. His hair is wet, still, and maybe he should do something about it but he told Matt fifteen, and he's not actually sure how many minutes ago that was. He checks his phone, suddenly paranoid that he left the guy standing in the hallway, but there's no texts, no missed calls.

He ends up sprawled across the bed, less "comfortable" than "too tired to find a position that actually works for him." Flips through the channels a little bit, speeding past the sports stations, and is just trying to figure out if an episode of South Park is a rerun or not — it doesn't seem particularly topical but sometimes that doesn't mean anything, and he hasn't watched this show regularly in years — when there's a knock on the door. He's up like a shot, towel falling off his shoulders and down to the floor. 

Matt's there, of course. His eyes flick up toward Josh's face just once, still not making eye contact before they drop to the ground again.

"Hey," Josh says, bites his lip a little. "Come, uh — c'mon in."

There's something very final about the way the door closes behind him, even though it's a hotel door, smooth and well-oiled, shutting with a click and not any sort of slam. Josh locks the deadbolt, just to be careful.

"It's not — you can leave," he says quickly. "If you want."

He hasn't done this much. It's pretty obvious.

"I don't want to leave," Matt says. His voice sounds thick with disuse, even though Josh has heard him talk within the past hour. He sounds — tired. They're all tired.

"What _do_ you want?"

Someday, Josh thinks, if this is — if this goes on, if this continues, maybe he'll be able to set the parameters. Decide what Matt wants _for_ him, take it all out of his hands like he really wants. Maybe Matt won't have to say anything at all; maybe neither of them will. Instinct and body language and Matt knowing his place, and —

Josh inhales, slow and deep.

"I just need you to make me forget," Matt says. He's still so quiet; he still hasn't looked directly at Josh.

The breath Josh takes this time is shorter, sharper. He keeps his voice even when he asks, "Do you want me to hurt you?" but he's not sure what he'll do if the answer is yes. He knows it's on the table, but that's not — something they've done yet. (The fact that he's thinking "yet" is — something he can't worry about, not right now.)

Fortunately, Matt just shakes his head. There's a hint of a smile on his face, Josh thinks, and maybe he's being laughed at but that's fine. Right now, that's fine.

"Okay," Josh says. He tilts his head, watches the way Matt just stands there, head ducked nearly to his chest, eyes on the ground. The slightly tense hold of his shoulders, even though his hands are loose, relaxed at his sides.

He takes a step backward, then another, turns just enough so he can kind of see where he's going without really taking his eyes off Matt. The hotel room is big enough but it isn't huge; it's not far before he's back to the bed. He sits on the edge of it, heavy.

"Okay," he says again. More decisively this time, but quiet. "Dutchy," he says. "Come here."

Matt takes a step forward, and Josh shakes his head, realizes a beat too late that Matt can't see him, isn't looking.

"No," he says, still soft. Matt stops. "On your knees."

Matt breathes out a long, shuddery breath. He sinks to his knees, so fast that Josh almost misses it. But now that he's seen it, now that he's looking, he can't possibly look at anything else: Matt Duchene on the floor of his hotel room, the slacks of his suit getting wrinkled by the carpet as he inches his way closer. He's not _crawling_ , not really, not on his hands and knees like the term implies, but Josh has to swallow hard to shake the image.

"That's good," Josh says, and he hopes he doesn't sound as breathless as he feels.

It takes longer than it seems like it should for Matt to cross the room, shuffling across the floor. Josh feels every second in his throat. Finally, finally, Matt comes to a stop next to the bed, not touching Josh's legs but — almost. He's still tall, bent in half like this. 

Josh reaches out, telegraphs his movements as clearly as he can, slow and steady. He presses the tips of his fingers to Matt's cheek, and when Matt turns into it he moves his hand slowly, cups his chin. Turns his face up. It's the first time they've made eye contact all night, since they got off the ice. Matt tries to lower his eyelids, break contact without looking away, but Josh squeezes his jaw, once, lightly, and Matt's eyes widen again.

"Good," Josh says. "Tell me if you're uncomfortable, okay? Just — your — safeword. If you need it." He stumbles over it a little; he never thought of himself as the kind of guy who would need a safeword. Still doesn't, really, but Matt had insisted ( _Ashley_ had insisted). 

Matt's head moves, just slightly, like he was going to nod before realizing Josh was still holding onto his chin. "Okay," he says, more a breath than a word.

"Okay," Josh echoes. "That's — good. We're just gonna. I'm gonna watch TV, okay? You just … you stay where you are. You lean on me if you need to, okay? Don't fall asleep."

"Okay," Matt echoes, still barely audible. 

Josh squeezes his jaw one more time, making sure Matt holds the eye contact, and then lets go. Matt's eyes drop immediately, and then the rest of him, sagging against Josh's leg. He leans his head against Josh's knee.

It's only weird for a minute. Josh pats around on the bed until he finds the remote, turns down the volume on the TV until it's barely audible. He hadn't even realized it was still on, hopes Matt didn't find the obnoxious voice acting of South Park too distracting — but from the way he's breathing even, pressed up against Josh like this, he doesn't think so. 

Josh keeps flipping channels; he's not going to find anything to watch, probably, not with how distracted he is. He can't focus on anything but the way Matt leans against him, the warm line of his shoulder through his dress shirt when Josh's other hand comes to wrap around his arm, pull him ever slightly closer.

He doesn't know what time it is. They should sleep soon, probably, but — this counts as resting, he's pretty sure.

His hand inches up the curve of Matt's shoulder. Matt lets out a breathy sound when Josh's fingers trace up the tendons in his neck, shivers almost imperceptibly but doesn't really move. Josh's thumb rubs across Matt's jaw. 

The first time they did this, he was too scared to touch Matt. It's getting better. _He's_ getting better. Not the natural at it that the Duchenes had hoped he would be, maybe, but — he can take care of Matt, like this. He's figuring it out.

Except it's too easy, almost, sometimes, to fall into it — if he's not paying attention. If he lets himself get comfortable. Like now. He hadn't realized he was touching Matt's mouth, would never, ever have done it on purpose. But now Matt's lips are parting, just slightly, to make room for Josh's thumb to press its way inside. Josh freezes, just like that, thumbing an indent into Matt's lower lip.

"Dutchy," he says. He sounds a little choked, even to himself. "Are —" He's not even sure where that sentence was going before he'd cut himself off.

He remembers the way Ashley had said "It's not sexual," the reassuring, almost placating tone of her voice, the way the relief he'd felt wash over him allowed him to almost ignore the way she'd followed it up with, "not necessarily."

The tip of Matt's tongue brushes against Josh's thumb, unmistakable. It's not intent, necessarily, but — it _could_ be intent. It could mean something.

"Dutchy," Josh says again. A little more urgent. "What are you — Talk to me." He's almost pleading, he knows it, but … maybe someday, he'll be able to just give Matt what he needs. Maybe someday he'll just know. But not yet.

When he looks down at Matt, this time, Matt is looking back up at him. His eyes are clear. He doesn't do anything to dislodge Josh's thumb from his mouth, and Josh doesn't move it. It's not enough to keep Matt from talking, to make him anything but completely intelligible when he says, quiet but assured, "Can I suck you off?"

Josh can feel himself go still. He's not sure what his face is doing, barely sure what any of his body is doing. He can't feel anything but the heat of the inside of Matt's mouth where his thumb is barely hooked inside.

"It's been a while," Matt says, "but I promise. I can make it good."

Josh groans at that, doesn't mean to, wouldn't even realize it's him that's made that sound at first except that he's staring straight at Matt's mouth. 

"Please," Matt says. Like Josh would be doing _him_ a favor. His eyes slip shut, eyelashes trembling against his cheeks. He closes his lips around Josh's thumb, pulls it in a little deeper.

"You know you don't have to," Josh says. He can hear the way his voice is going a little desperate around the edges. He can feel how his dick is starting to stir inside his boxers. He wishes he'd worn more clothing. Matt is still _dressed_ , and he —

"I want to," Matt says. 

"Ashley —"

"Trusts you."

It should make Josh feel worse, maybe: that Matt's wife thinks Josh is trustworthy, that she trusts him to make the right choices for Matt, and here he is trying not to think about shoving his cock down her husband's throat. Except — she trusts him to make the right choices for Matt. Trusts him to take care of him. And if this is what he wants, what he needs …

"Okay," Josh breathes out. He tugs his thumb out of Matt's mouth, immediately misses the heat and damp of it. Matt's mouth is still open, just slightly, bottom lip shiny with saliva. Josh can't look away.

It's Matt who moves, finally; there's a moment of hesitation, like he's seeking permission, but whatever he sees on Josh's face must be enough for him to shift, resituate himself between Josh's legs. His hands cup Josh's calves; he leans in, exhales so that his breath ghosts hot over Josh's dick even through his underwear.

"Oh, g—" Josh catches himself, but barely; whatever part of Matt's relationship with religion lets him do … whatever all this is, Josh still worries that taking the Lord's name in vain will be a step too far. He threads a hand through Matt's hair instead, doesn't tug, just enough pressure to let Matt know he's there.

Matt's mouth falls open, mouthing at Josh's semi. Gets him harder just by _breathing_ on him, which — he's not a teenager, it should take a little more than that. He'd be a little offended by the betrayal of his body if he weren't distracted by the look on Matt's face, far too peaceful given the context. There's a part of Josh that wants to push forward, fuck him up a little; there's a part of him that thrills to be evoking this reaction.

"Are you —" He clears his throat. "Are you gonna be good for me, Dutchy?"

Matt nods, ducks his head against Josh's inner thigh. "Please," he whispers.

Josh strokes his hand over his hair again, one, twice. It's soothing for him; he can't be sure if it's soothing for Matt. He wishes Matt were still sucking on his thumb; he has no idea, none, what to make of that. "Okay," he says softly, decisively. "Show me what you can do."

Matt pulls back, just enough to get his balance. He reaches up, eyes not quite meeting Josh's but clearly watching his face, gauging his reaction, and slides his fingers into the waistband of Josh's boxers, sliding them down when Josh nods, lifts his hips. 

Underwear down around his ankles, t-shirt still on; it's not the most dignified Josh has ever felt, but then Matt leans in again and just breathes, hot, on the head of his dick, and Josh forgets what he was worried about. One of Matt's hands is flat against his inner thigh, like he's bracing himself. He trails the other down the underside of Josh's dick, fingertips against the sensitive skin there. Josh shivers. 

He curls his hand around the base of Matt's skull and draws him in, just a little; it's barely more than pressure but it's clearly enough of a hint, because Matt finally, finally wraps his lips around Josh's cock. Josh has no idea when this went from something he'd never even imagined to something he was so impatient for.

Matt isn't doing anything fancy, but just his mouth, hot and wet around his dick, is doing it for Josh. "Oh," he says, and then again: " _oh_ ," like he's surprised.

Matt stays shallow, suction on the head of Josh's dick, a steady, even rhythm as he dips his head forward. Josh is — glad, actually, doesn't think he could handle it if Matt pulled out any tricks right now.

This is good — so good. He goes to say it and realizes he already has.

Josh isn't a big talker, in bed. Loud, sometimes, maybe. But not — not like this, not the way he is right now, unsure how long these words have been spilling out of his mouth. "You're doing so good," he's saying, still stroking Matt's hair, the back of his neck, the width of his shoulders. "You feel so good like this. Good for me," he says, and he can feel the hitch in Matt's breathing. He's not sure if it's his words or if it's his dick in Matt's mouth.

Because that's — that's it, he knows. That's what his job is, here, to make Matt feel needed, to make him feel _good_. 

Which is. Ridiculous. That he's somehow doing that, when _Matt_ is the one making him feel like _this_.

"Dutchy," he says. "Matt, Dutchy, oh my — oh, _fuck_ ," he says as Matt finally takes him deeper. Not all the way, but it's a lot of sensation suddenly, Matt working him over good — with just his mouth, even; his hands are still on Josh's thighs. Gripping tight; fortunately they have tomorrow off, fortunately no one's really looking at Josh's inner thighs anyway, because he wouldn't be surprised if there were bruises there tomorrow, where Matt's fingers press into his skin.

It's — he's not sure how he feels about it, the thought of the guys knowing. If you'd asked him a year ago, what he'd do if he had Matt Duchene on his knees ...

He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath, forces them open again so he can watch the way Matt moves on his dick. 

"I'm," he starts, cuts himself off with a sharp inhale as Matt pulls off. 

"Close?" Matt asks. His voice sounds raw, used, hoarse in a completely different way from when he'd first walked in to this room. 

"You're amazing," Josh says. He'd been going for _yeah_ , but the way those words — that, after everything — brings a fresh rush of color to Matt's cheeks, maybe he didn't say the wrong thing after all. "Doing so good," he says. "Gonna get me there, aren't you? Yeah, you are."

Matt opens his mouth like he's going to reply, but he just lets it hang there, jaw loose as he takes a few shaky breaths. He meets Josh's eyes for what feels like the first time all night, for more than a split second. There's — something, in his eyes, some sort of emotion that Josh isn't sure what to name and doesn't know how to quantify.

"Come on," he says instead, squeezing the back of Matt's neck. Matt licks his lips and goes back down obediently, eyes fluttering shut, sucking Josh's cock like he's desperate for it. It's — he looks good.

"You look so good like this," Josh says, maybe too honest. Matt swallows around him, and Josh can't help the way his hips hitch up; Matt makes a soft, small noise, almost lost under the murmur of the television. He does it again, still gentle, not fucking Matt's mouth but pushing in, just a little. Matt makes that same sound again, but louder.

"Fuck," Josh says. "Fuck, I'm gonna — Dutchy, baby, I'm gonna — You're so —"

Matt pulls back, just the head of Josh's dick in his mouth when Josh finally comes. His eyes are shut tight, a look on his face that's not quite concentration, not quite satisfaction. He gets a hand around Josh's dick, finally, and Josh jerks forward a little bit at the touch without meaning to; Matt pulls back, pulls _off_ , gets the last of it on his face. His lips, his chin; a smudge of come on his cheek. His hand works Josh through the aftershocks, gentle, sticking his tongue out to catch the last little spurt.

" _Fuck_ ," Josh says again, heartfelt.

Matt sinks down between Josh's legs, collapses almost, rests his head against his knee. Josh gets a hand back in his hair, strokes gently.

They sit there for a while, quiet except from the drone of the TV. It's going to be low 50s in Boston tomorrow, still, when they leave. Josh doesn't know what the weather's like at home. His come is still drying on Matt's face. He doesn't know what to say.

Eventually Matt gets his hands on Josh's knees, using them as leverage to push himself up. He's a little shaky when he stands, suddenly taller than Josh. Josh just stares as he walks across the room, flips on the bathroom light, shuts the door and disappears inside. He gathers himself enough to pull up his underwear, relax back onto the edge of the bed.

Matt looks — better, when he comes out a minute later, pale but composed. His face is clean; Josh doesn't expect the flare of disappointment in his chest. That doesn't — he wouldn't want anyone to see — but. But.

"Do you need," he says, stops halfway through the offer. He's not sure what he's even — a hug? A reciprocal blowjob? Josh feels, suddenly, like he's had the rug pulled out from under him. Matt shakes his head, doesn't say anything.

Josh just looks at him. It's a risk, maybe, now that their — scene, or whatever, is over; he doesn't know how this works. But he can't just … let Matt go out looking like that. Maybe it's not over at all.

"Hey," he says, voice as soft as he can make it while not leaving any room for argument. "Come here."

Matt's eyes widen, just a little, but he comes, crosses the room in a few quick strides. Josh spreads his legs, enough to be an invitation, and Matt takes it, steps back between them, but Josh stops him before he can go to his knees again. No words, just a hand on his waist, but it seems to work. He pulls Matt tight, an awkward hug with Josh still sitting down, his face pressed to Matt's stomach, the buttons of his dress shirt. But it's — good. To feel Matt breathing like this.

"You did so good," he says, and feels Matt shiver just slightly. "You know that, right? You're incredible."

"Andy," Matt says. A protest. "I —"

Josh cuts him off. "Don't. Don't argue with me on this, okay? I'll win." He can't see Matt's face, but he can feel the hitch of a suppressed laugh, can imagine he's smiling.

When Josh pulls back, arms still wrapped loose around Matt's waist, he can see that he's right. It's a small smile, but it's there. 

"Do you want to … you can stay, if …"

"I shouldn't," Matt says, too quickly, and he's right. He shouldn't. It would be even stranger in the morning, sharing a bed and then Matt rushing out, down the hall in his rumpled suit, both of them rushing for the bus.

"Okay," Josh says. "Yeah. I'll — see you in the morning."

"In the morning," Matt echoes. 

Josh lets him go, then. Puts his hands on his own thighs, where Matt's had been just a few minutes ago, and watches him walk out the door. 

He flops back onto the bed, shuts his eyes tight. "Fuck," he whispers.

He doesn't have time, _they_ don't have time, for shit to get complicated. Flight back in the morning, and a game Monday night. It's do or die; Josh won't think, _can't_ think about anything but hockey. Can't think about the way Matt's mouth felt around him, can't think about the easy way he fell to his knees. How good he is — because it's not, it's not just something Josh is saying because he's supposed to. He means it. He really does.

"Fuck," he says again, a little louder. He means that, too.

**Author's Note:**

> ok so real talk my first stab at writing this was extremely drunk using speech-to-text on my phone at god knows what time in the morning and i'm still fucking laughing at it
> 
>  


End file.
